


the anniversary

by MavenMorozova



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1900s, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grindeldore Feels, Grindeldore Holiday Exchange, Happy Ending, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:06:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28958400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MavenMorozova/pseuds/MavenMorozova
Summary: Ariana’s stone was cold to the touch, as Gellert had expected, but under his palm it warmed at least to a relatively comfortable level. Then blossoms opened from Gellert’s fingers, spreading outward until they encased the hard base of the headstone and ran in tendrils down its side.He was about to stand up again, his purpose fulfilled, when he was met by a familiar voice.“What are you doing here?”
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald
Comments: 4
Kudos: 54
Collections: Grindeldore Holiday Exchange 2020





	the anniversary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Litsetaure](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Litsetaure/gifts).



> Written for the Grindeldore Holiday Exchange 2020! Hope you enjoy:)
> 
> For an angsty Grindeldore-esque poem, I recommend “Closure” by Lang Leav (it has nothing to do with this fic I just wanted to mention it)!

Gellert arrived at the cemetery midmorning; he had missed the train from London to Exeter and had been forced to wait for the next one. It would have been all too easy to Apparate or Floo to West Country, or even simply borrow a portkey, but that would have put him on England’s radar, and he couldn’t have that. He wouldn’t even consider a thestral or broom, of course—that, he knew, would prove to be tiresome against his ass.

So Gellert had swallowed his pride and bought a train ticket...and promptly missed the train.

Now, of course, it didn’t matter, but then, with the sparsely populated dank train station filling with the light of sunrise’s first rays, he had nearly cursed the nearest living thing, which had just so happened to be a sewer rat.

Actually, he  _ had _ cursed it—only in a very inconspicuous way. Normally he wouldn’t have cared, as his whole mission was to obliterate the Statute of Secrecy, but for once he had something more important to do that he couldn’t risk getting in a fight over.

A few hours and three dead rats later, he had finally boarded the eight o’clock train.

Godric’s Hollow was still just as he remembered it from ten years ago, with its quaint medieval homes and perpetual silence. It was heavy silence this time, however, so different from the quiet buzz of witches, wizards, and muggles who had gotten along so amicably in the years prior. Gellert knew that it was because of him—the duel he’d had with Albus and Aberforth at the end of the summer, at least—that the village had changed, but though it brought angst to his heart, he wouldn’t have changed a single thing leading up to those final moments. As Albus had serendipitously declared all those years ago when they were but foolish teenagers, it was all for the ‘greater good.’

The cemetery, too, was laden with that oppressive sense of dread and moroseness. As Gellert walked through the crunchy dull grass of late autumn, waving a charm of illusory warmth over his body, he could practically feel the numerous deaths that had occurred since his last visit to the village. He could see the added tombstones as well, new lines created to wrap around the side of the old chapel. It had been a decade since he’d left Albus in shambles, their whole family broken beyond repair. He regretted it more than anything...and he couldn’t understand why Albus had never reached out to him after he had fled.

Surely...he didn’t think that  _ Gellert  _ had been the cause of Ariana’s death? It couldn’t be. It hadn’t been him, that he was certain of.

Finally, he reached Ariana’s headstone, shared with Kendra, the two of them forever wrapped in secrecy together. Everything that Albus had always hated about the situation in his family. Ariana...she should have been free. That was the hunger Gellert had always seen in his lover’s eyes as they made plans for the future.

Plans he, Gellert, had soiled with his foolishness and cowardice. He had  _ fled _ instead of healing his relationship with the Dumbledores. He still couldn’t forgive himself for that.

After a moment, Gellert allowed himself to crouch down in front of the tombstone, the sharp scent of recently-burned incense wafting from the church and into the graveyard. It was fitting, he thought, that he, the person already seen to parts of the world as the bringer of such death and destruction, was sitting in the middle of a tiny cemetery as a candle burned for the dead just metres away.

Ariana’s stone was cold to the touch, as Gellert had expected, but under his palm it warmed at least to a relatively comfortable level. Then blossoms opened from Gellert’s fingers, spreading outward until they encased the hard base of the headstone and ran in tendrils down its side.

He was about to stand up again, his purpose fulfilled, when he was met by a familiar voice.

“What are you doing here?”

It was more hostile than he last remembered, though that was to be expected, and much of that was encased in the voice of someone who was exhausted both physically and mentally, someone who had seen too much of the world at too young of an age, and was all the worse for it.

“Albus,” Gellert replied cordially, without turning around. He could feel his own muscles clenching, magic brewing under his skin and waiting to be released at the first sign of open hostility. Breathing in deeply, Gellert attempted to calm himself. He couldn’t let his magic spew out of him like it normally did, a harsh release of power that even he had trouble mastering and keeping control over. He’d already earned quite the reputation for it...so it had been at Durmstrang before Albus taught him to keep himself centered.

The duel in 1899 had completely reset his progress in the art of control, however, and he was more prone to outbursts than ever. All he could do now was breathe in, breathe out…

“You didn’t answer my question,” replied Albus sharply. “What made you think you had a right to return to this place?”

Gellert heard the sting of pain in his voice as apparent as day and twice as heated. Shame twinged at his soul, almost nearing the detriment of regret. Gellert pushed it away hurriedly; he had no use for such ridiculous sentiment, which would only hold him back. He had come here to pay his respects, to pay the reparations he could to his own peace of mind, and then leave quietly.

He had  _ not _ wanted to see Albus. Perhaps, however, their coincidental and abrupt meeting could provide him some closure.

That was it.

His mind kept each thought precise; analytical. It was all he could do to prevent the torrent of emotion that was threatening to burst through like a wave preparing to crest a sand barrier.

“Albus,” he tried again, “Let me expl—”

“There is nothing to explain,” the other man cut in. Gellert could hear the cracks in his voice. Albus, sweet, intelligent, ambitious Albus, was about to cry. “You ruined my life,” he continued softly, voice carrying over the autumn wind. “You indirectly caused the death of my sister. And you are becoming a monster.”

“Indirectly?” Gellert asked.

Albus’s nose twitched in irritation. “What?”

“You said ‘indirectly,’” Gellert mused, taking a step away from the tombstone and towards Albus’s lean figure. He couldn’t help but notice how skinny his old lover had gotten, how pale and hollow he looked. He was being worn down by everything they had ever tried to overcome. There were dark circles under Albus’s eyes and his normally sleek red hair was lank and resting untied against his back.

Albus shook his head, confusion evident on his countenance. “What are you hinting at, Gellert?”

“I killed her, didn’t I?”

Slowly, Albus shook his head. “No,” he said in a voice that was practically dripping with melancholy and despair. “You didn’t kill her. Not like how you think.” He squeezed his eyes shut and pushed his pair of half-moon spectacles up his nose. Another new thing from when Gellert had last seen him. Poor Albus was spending too much time indoors.

“Who did, then?”

“I don’t know,” Albus replied. He looked defeated, almost like a teenager again despite the ten years of age and growth on his face. “It could have been any one of us. But I don’t think it was you.”

Gellert sensed that there was something more there, but he didn’t pry further. If Albus was going to blame himself, he would have to come to terms with that on his own eventually.

“The worst thing you did was Cruciate my brother,” Albus continued, eyes still shut tightly. He shook his head and ran a hand down his face, a shudder echoing through his body.

Gellert, on the other hand, was stunned. “The Cruciatus Curse?” he repeated softly, barely willing to speak the words. It wasn’t that the spell itself in all its horrificness bothered him; no, he had learned to use it liberally in situations with his followers and his enemies alike. It had been his friend and Durmstrang and abroad in England and the rest of Europe. Rather...he would  _ never _ have used the spell on someone so close to Albus. Though Gellert had disliked Aberforth, merely tolerating his presence for Albus’s sake, it was beneath him to torture him. The poor boy was too simple, anyway.

Albus now had a sneer on his face, and it didn’t suit him, twisting up his smooth face terribly. It didn’t look like the Albus that Gellert knew at all. “Are you trying to deny it now,  _ liebling _ ?”

The pet name was a mockery in its crass throwabout from Albus’s lips, and Gellert had to grimace. “I  _ am  _ denying it,” he replied, “because it never happened. Though I used a similar spell, it was far less painful. One of my nonverbal defense inventions.”

“Was it defense?” Albus asked dangerously. Gellert could see his hand drifting to the wand that he could now see was poking from the pocket of his muggle-style trousers, and though they were in a public space where the muggles could see them, he knew that his old lover would have no qualms about dueling again here and now, if not for his honor, then for his pride.

It was one of the traits that had made Gellert think that Albus was a good choice for Gryffindor house at Hogwarts after all, despite hearing so many grumblings about it from Aberforth that his older brother should have been in Slytherin.

He couldn’t deal with that rashness now. “Yes, it was. I would never do that to you or your brother.”

Albus only leveled him with a cool stare. “So you say.”

“I can do nothing to persuade you of anything, it seems,” Gellert replied. “But I only was trying to defend myself. I hope that you will believe me, Albus.”

The other man swallowed. Gellert could see the confusion and tension playing across his face, for he was not even trying to hide it. “It is true,” he said after a moment, “that Aberforth was the one to strike first.”

Gellert felt relief flood through him, palpable and cool like rain. Still, he held his breath, for Albus had never been fickle. “Where is he now?” he asked instead, softly.

“Aberforth?”

Gellert nodded, and Albus sighed. Those blue eyes slid away from his to look out over the distance of the churchyard and cemetery. “He started a pub in Hogsmeade, I think. Wanted to be far away from me. I don’t blame him.”

Albus’s voice was sticky at the edges; Gellert could hear the beginnings of a tight throat and held-back tears as his old lover spoke.

_ He truly had been alone all these years. _

“And you?” he asked. “What has the great Albus Dumbledore been doing in my absence?”

He had meant for the question to be light, more a tease than anything else, but Albus’s face suddenly became stormy again, and Gellert cursed himself for his foolishness.

“Studying, mostly. And I’ve gotten in correspondence with an old sorcerer.” The corner of his lips turned up at that, though it was mostly a smug smirk more than a true smile.

“Sounds fascinating,” Gellert replied dryly.

There was a heavy silence. They both knew what he would have added to that statement if he had dared to: that it was more than anything, _ wasted potential. _

They stared into each others’ eyes for a moment longer, blue meeting blue, before Gellert spoke again, clutching Albus’s pale, bony wrist in his hand.

“Come with me,” he pleaded, hating how desperate he sounded. “We can start over, forget this ever happened—”

“ _ Forget _ ?” Albus interrupted harshly, pulling away. “You want me to  _ forget  _ that my sister and my mother died in the same year,  _ forget  _ the pain that I’ve been in, alone, for the past ten years?”

Gellert shook his head, in a slight daze. “No,” he said quietly. “Not that. I didn’t mean that.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I just want to be with you again,” Gellert admitted. “I want us to fulfill our dream.”

He could see the longing already manifesting on Albus’s exhausted face. Godric’s Hollow would never be enough for him; they both knew that.

But when his old lover spoke again, it was not what Gellert had wanted to hear. “Please...just go.”

As he turned to walk away, Gellert stood there, stunned. Of all the possibilities in returning to Godric’s Hollow, he hadn’t imagined running into Albus at all when he had come to visit Ariana’s grave, in fact, he hadn’t wanted it. But now that Albus was  _ here, _ it was as if everything had reversed back into the ever-whirling cog of time. He wanted to hold Albus in his arms again, stroke that beautiful long red hair and run his fingers along the smooth skin of his lover’s cheek.

Instead, he could only stare at Albus’s retreating figure, frozen in place.

Then his mind returned to him, and he scrambled after him. “Albus—wait—”

“You didn’t wait for me!” Albus exclaimed, whirling around abruptly. His fingers caught ahold of Gellert’s pristine collar and clutched it tightly, other arm raising, wand in hand, to point at Gellert’s throat. “You went off on your dreams and left me to rot here!” His eyes were watering, threatening to spill over. “And now you expect everything to be  _ fine?” _

“I am sorry,  _ liebling,” _ Gellert replied stonily. Though Albus was partially in the right, he couldn’t let any weakness show. Slowly, he pried the other man’s fingers from their tight clench and wrapped them in his own hands, rubbing them softly. “I panicked.”

“And yet you never returned until now.”

Gellert inwardly cringed; he had not even meant to meet Albus at all, at least not initially. He was struck by an odd emotion, one almost completely foreign to him: shame. And he hated it.

“What was I supposed to do?” was what emitted from his mouth, defensiveness rising to the surface to cover the deeper emotions that he wasn’t quite ready to share. “You made it clear that you had no interest in our plans anymore! You would have rather had your brother killed me!”

“Aberforth couldn’t have killed you. He doesn’t have the skill.”

“That is besides the point!” Gellert shot back. “The point is that you did not care. You gave up on me. On our dream.”

Albus had the decency to look slightly ashamed. Still, there was a spark of defiance in his eyes. “What was that dream, Gellert?” he asked, voice dangerously soft. “What has it been twisted into, I wonder? Or was it always flawed from the start?”

“What do you mean?” He could already feel the chill seeping into his spine. What had the world said about him, more than his general perceived brutality?

“You want more than to expose us to the muggle world, Gel,” Albus replied, words tapering off into a whisper. “I know you believe we are above them. That you would subjugate them because they are  _ other _ .”

“They cannot produce magic!” Gellert protested. “They must be protected by us, for their own safety. I have seen the way they tear each other apart. There are two Great Wars on the horizon.”

Albus stilled, gaze dropping to the dirt. He was a Legilimens, and as such, he must have known that Gellert was telling the truth. “Yes,” he agreed quietly. “It is so.”

“Please, help me save them. Help me save  _ us. _ All of us.”

Albus sighed. “I’ve missed you for so long.”

Gellert didn’t miss the obvious change in subject, but he said nothing, and Albus continued to speak. “I thought of you every day, and now I can’t imagine returning to life without you. I  _ need _ you, my love.”

Gellert’s heart clenched at the proclamation. “Is that a yes?” he asked, one eyebrows raised.

Albus leveled him with an annoyed, albeit slightly amused, stare. “I will help you.”

Gellert could already feel his own heart beginning to soar. “Albus. You know that it’s less of ‘helping me’ personally. It’s about  _ us _ . It’s about the  _ future _ .”

Albus laughed softly. “So you have not lost your effortless internal visionary, then.”

Despite himself, Gellert smiled and stepped closer, lips nearly brushing those of the man before him. “Never,” he murmured.

When they kissed, it was as if no time had passed, lips melding effortlessly against each other and hands finding all the familiar places on each others’ bodies. It was perfect, knowing that this time, they would never be separated again.

**Author's Note:**

> I think this was my first time writing from GG's POV, so that was certainly interesting! Let me know what you think!
> 
> Again, Happy (belated) Holidays to you, Litsetaure:) Sorry this came a little late!
> 
> come say hi to me on tumblr @nitheful!


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